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На западе холмы во тьму глядят,
В последний раз плывет закат.
Как будто бы поет печально он –
Тревожный рев златых рогов
Уснувших замертво бойцов
Хранит в земле последний сон
Вдали от шляхов и знамен.
Сверкает сталью легион –
Во тьму веков уходит он.
Уходит, как последний день,
Как будто войн уходит тень.
Файзулин Эльдар Ахмедович
На западе холмы во тьму глядят - Эдвин Арлингтон Робинсон америк
© Copyright: Эльдар Файзулин, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104020200425
Свидетельство о публикации №104020200425
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Хорошо, но почему Вы не приводите никогда оригинал? Сравнить хотя бы с чемО)))
С уважением,
Лукьянов Александр Викторович 02.02.2004 09:54 • Заявить о нарушении
С уважением,
Лукьянов Александр Викторович 02.02.2004 09:54 • Заявить о нарушении
Спасибо за замечание, исправлюсь. С уважением Эльф
Эльдар Файзулин 03.02.2004 06:39 Заявить о нарушении
Эльдар Файзулин 03.02.2004 06:39 Заявить о нарушении
The whip
E.A.Robinson
The doubt you fought so long
The cynic net you cast,
The tyranny, the wrong,
The ruin, they are past;
And here you are at last
Your blood no long vexed.
The coffin has you fast,
The clod will have you next.
But fear you not the clod,
Nor ever doubt the grave:
The roses and the sod
Will not forwear the wave.
The gift the river gave
Is now but theirs to cover:
The mistress and the slave
Are gone now, and the lover.
You left the two to find
Their own way to the brink
Then – shall I call you blind? –
You chose to plunge and sink.
God knows the gall we drink
Is not the mead we cry for,
Nor was it, I should think –
For you – a thing to die for.
Could we have done the same,
Had we been in your place, –
The funeral of your name
Throws no light on the case.
Coud we have made the chase,
And left then as you felt, –
But what’s this on your fase,
Blue, curious, like a welt?
There were some ropes of sand
Recorded long ago,
But none? I understand,
Of water. Is it so?
And she – she struck the blow,
You, but a neck behind…
You saw the river flow –
Still – shall I call you blind?
Эльдар Файзулин 04.02.2004 04:53 Заявить о нарушении
E.A.Robinson
The doubt you fought so long
The cynic net you cast,
The tyranny, the wrong,
The ruin, they are past;
And here you are at last
Your blood no long vexed.
The coffin has you fast,
The clod will have you next.
But fear you not the clod,
Nor ever doubt the grave:
The roses and the sod
Will not forwear the wave.
The gift the river gave
Is now but theirs to cover:
The mistress and the slave
Are gone now, and the lover.
You left the two to find
Their own way to the brink
Then – shall I call you blind? –
You chose to plunge and sink.
God knows the gall we drink
Is not the mead we cry for,
Nor was it, I should think –
For you – a thing to die for.
Could we have done the same,
Had we been in your place, –
The funeral of your name
Throws no light on the case.
Coud we have made the chase,
And left then as you felt, –
But what’s this on your fase,
Blue, curious, like a welt?
There were some ropes of sand
Recorded long ago,
But none? I understand,
Of water. Is it so?
And she – she struck the blow,
You, but a neck behind…
You saw the river flow –
Still – shall I call you blind?
Эльдар Файзулин 04.02.2004 04:53 Заявить о нарушении